"Shaun Hutson - Compulsion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hutson Shaun)

Her bulky clothes disguised the still-forming contours of her body.

She scratched at the crook of one arm.

Donna took a drag on the Silk Cut and regarded the haul
disinterestedly.

Dressed in a black Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt and dark grey fleece, she
seemed to blend into the gloom. Tight black jeans hugged her legs,
tucked into dark brown Caterpillar boots. The toes were scuffed and
the leather looked as if it hadn't tasted polish for several months.

"Not much, is it?" she observed.

Thompson shrugged.

"Thirty quids' worth," he said flatly, running a hand through his
tousled hair. He then replaced the Nike baseball cap, toying with the
brim.

Like his companions, he was dressed in designer clothes, all of which
looked as if they were in dire need of a wash.

His face seemed to have escaped the worst ravages of over-active
sebacious glands. No spots. No pock-marks. His skin, yet to feel the
touch of a razor, was smooth. His eyes were dark, but alert.

He picked at some mud stuck to the sole of his Air Jordans. As it came
free he rolled it between his fingers and tossed it in the direction of
the far wall.

There were other things there, covered by sheets of clear polythene:
portable TVs; video recorders; a DVD player and some discs; three
computers; Playstations; Dreamcast consoles.

You name it, they had it.

Only Thompson, Donna and Brown had access to the flat. If anything
went missing, each knew who was responsible. They decided what was
sold who to and for how much.

Final word went to Thompson.

A mark of respect.

Of seniority.

Of fear?

Tenner each, then?" Brown asked, getting to his feet, the knickers